66 The Convent of Catania. [Juxy, 
«A father !” shrieked the other ; “ Gracious Heaven! forbid it !—It 
cannot be that one so vile has sprung from that noble root—Oh! no, 
I have mistaken your words—say not you are his father.” 
« And, wherefore not, Montalto >—What madness urges you to these 
excesses >” The voice of the other was checked ; he softened the vio- 
lence of his look, and after a pause, proceeded in a milder tone. 
«« Sir, you have known me long enough to be assured that I am not _ 
wantonly disturbing your quiet ; it was not with any foresight of this 
catastrophe that I came hither ;—I could not guess that this man called 
you by the honored title of Parent.—I can hardly now believe it:— 
but my words have awakened your fears, and I cannot rest without 
satisfying them.” He stopped, and for a moment appeared to undergo 
a conflict of various emotions; then directing his gaze fixedly to the 
quailing countenance of the young Alessi, he continued in these solemn 
words— 
« Eurico, your own conscience written on that cheek, will tell father 
better than my words, that I have not been raving.—<s I look at you 
now, I cannot recognize the courtly and accomplished noblemen, to 
whom a seat at my paternal table was offered with all the frankness of 
unsuspecting hearts, and disgraced by ingratitude, blacker than malice 
could have painted. The result of our hospitality is known in the 
country which I left despairing, and the infamy which you threw on 
the fair sister of my heart, has been followed by the dispersion and 
wretchedness of our whole house. You left her in the hour of seduc- 
tion, afraid to meet the resentment you had earned. But the remem- 
brance of the hateful time is strongly enough perpetuated by the tears 
of an undone family ; and your escape from retribution is not now 
effected. You will understand me.” 
These words, uttered in a deep tone of subdued emotion, will indicate 
sufficiently some of those circumstances that were the forerunners of 
this tale. The young Alessi had betrayed the daughter of a Neapolitan 
noble; and, to the baseness of a seducer, united also the meanness of 
a coward. He fled from the scene of his guilty pleasure, and was 
overtaken in Sicily by Montalto; who, partly from a desire to wipe 
away the local associations of personal and family sorrows, partly in — 
the faint hope of meeting with the author of them, had wandered from 
his home, without a companion, without a plan.—-These words may also 
lead to a surmise of many consequent events. The distraction of the 
old count, the hesitation and subterfuges of his son, were but natural 
issues of so unexpected a disclosure. By the latter, no species of vin-. 
dication could be urged ; and he stood before his father as a man guilty 
of all that he would have imputed to the injured Montalto, had his 
boldness been equal to his deceit. 
And, for Rosina, what was the sorrow which this event entailed >— 
Her young heart still beat high with the expanding hopes of her be- 
trothal ; her brow was not overcast with any new care—she heard not 
the history of her brother’s disgrace ; and when he departed from his 
home, sufficient was the slight pretext used to account for his untimely 
disappearance. With a burning heart, Montalto let him go, doubting, 
in pain and perplexity, whether the revenge he had so long coveted was 
not too precious to be lost, though he thereby remained master of ano~ 
ther jewel, and respected, as his duty bade him, the parental intercession 
of the Conte d’Alessi. 
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