despair—the glazed sunken eye of guilt—the bent cowering form of fear.—"Zerbellini," he cried, "Zerbellini, come down.—Think me not your enemy—I am your real friend, your preserver.—Come down, my child. With all but a brother's tenderness, I wait for you."
Arouzed by this signal, a window was opened from an apartment adjoining the cloister; and a boy, lovely in youth, mournfully answered the summons. "O! my kind protector!" he said, "I thought you had resolved to leave me to perish here. If, indeed, I am all you tell me—if you do not a second time deceive me, will you act by me as you ought? Will you restore me to my father?" The voice, though soft and melodious, sounded so tremulously sad, that it immediately awakened the deepest compassion, the strongest interest in the duke. He eagerly advanced forward. Colonel De Ruthven entreated him to remain a few moments longer concealed. He
