The great effort of Lady Margaret was to crush the struggles of passion; and when, at times, the agony of her mind was beyond endurance, she found it some relief to upbraid the wretch who had fulfilled her own guilty wishes.—“Monster!” she would exclaim, “without one tender or honourable feeling, take those detested and bloody hands from my sight:—they have destroyed the loveliest innocent that was ever born to bless a mother’s wishes:—that mother now appears in awful judgment against thee:—out, out, perfidious wretch!—come not near—gaze not upon me.”—Viviani marked the wild expression of her eye—the look of horror which she cast upon him; and a deep and lasting resentment succeeded in his breast, to every feeling of attachment. Seizing her hand, which he wrung in scorn: “What mean you by this mockery of tardy penitence?” he fiercely cried.—“Woman, beware how you trifle with the deep pangs of an injured heart:—not upon me—not upon me, be the blood of the innocent:—it was this hand, white and spotless as it appears, which sealed his doom:—I should have shewn mercy; but an unrelenting tigress urged me on.—On thee—on thine, be the guilt, till it harrow up thy soul to acts of phrenzy and despair:—hope not for pardon from man—seek not for mercy from God.—Away with those proud looks which once subdued me:—I can hate—I have learned of thee to hate; and my heart, released from thy bonds, is free at last:—spurn me,—what art thou now? A creature so wretched and so fallen, that I can almost pity thee.—Farewell.—For the last time, I look on thee with one sentiment of love.—When we meet again, tremble:—yes—proud as thou art, tremble; for, however protracted, thou shalt find the vengeance of Viviani, as certain, as it is terrible.” “Is it possible,” said Lady Margaret, gazing upon that beautiful and youthful countenance—upon that form which scarcely had attained to manhood,—“is it in the compass of probability that one so young should be so utterly hardened?” Viviani smiled on her and left her.—Very shortly after this interview, he quitted Ireland, vainly endeavouring in the hour of his departure to conceal the deep emotion by which he was agitated at thus tearing himself from one who appeared utterly indifferent to his hatred, his menaces, or his love. CHAPTER VII.