I know not what arts were used to make your lordship give any credit to so fallacious and improbable a tale; but I observed, with unfeigned regret, from that time your affection was continually decreasing, till at last your son was seldom admitted to your presence, and never indulged with those fond caresses which, previous to your departure from England, were frequently and tenderly repeated. He was generally dismissed with the epithets of beggar's brat, foundling, and ideot." "I feel deep contrition for yielding belief to such infernal tales, (said the Baron,)--for being so long the dupe and tool of a designing malicious woman, and neglecting the son of the most amiable and best of wives. Ah! my Isabella! if you are permitted to look down on this lower world,--if you are acquainted with the conduct of him to whom you entrusted your virgin-heart, and made the chosen lord of your destiny, how must you despise and detest the mean, the forgetful wretch, who deserted the sacred, the precious charge you so tenderly committed to his care! May my future penitence atone for the cruelty of my past conduct, and my sainted Isabella intercede with her Creator for pardon and forgiveness! Then may Fitzosbourne hope her spirit will in the grave find a place of rest. No wonder my crimes have robbed her even of that asylum." The tears of remorse stole down the Baron's cheeks, and he gave Walter a look of tender regret, that said as much as volumes could have done. "I know to what your lordship alludes, (said Walter,) and I am happy that it is in my power to remove a tormenting delusion from your mind, which, all circumstances considered, I cannot be surprised, made so forcible an impression on it. The striking likeness which I bear to my ever-regretted mother had often been remarked to me by Albert, and was undoubtedly designed to be the means of restoring me a father. Every one being impatient to hear the remainder of the prisoner's story, the explanation was deferred, and Albert went on. "Before my young lord had recovered his former complexion, or his features began to reassume some traits of what they had been, till attacked and disguised by that baneful distemper, so often the grave of beauty,--the enemy of love, I was one day summoned into my lady's dressing-room. After desiring me to shut the door, and take care our conversation was not overheard, she bade me sit down; I obeyed reluctantly, as I never before had been allowed the honour of sitting in her presence. She then inquired if I were in reality as much attached to her as I had frequently pretended to be, and whether, if she should have occasion to place a confidence in me, and require my assistance, she might trust to my fidelity?