"To restore your son," said Glenarvon, with a hypocritical smile, turning round and gazing on the duke. "Ha, whom do I behold! no Italian, no Viviani, but Glenarvon." "Yes, and to me, to me alone, you owe the safety of your child. Your sister decreed his death—I sav'd him. Now strike this bosom if you will."—"What are you? Who are you?" said the duke. "Is it now alone that you know Glenarvon?" he replied with a sneer. "I suspected this; but that name shall not save you."—"Nothing can save me," said Glenarvon, mournfully. "All hell is raging in my bosom. My brain is on fire. You cannot add to my calamities." "Why a second time attempt the life of my child?" "Despair prompted me to the deed," said Glenarvon, putting his hand to his head: "all is not right here—madness has fallen on me." "Live, miserable sinner," said the duke, looking upon him with contempt: "you are too base
