“We were in England at the time, at the house of one of his friends, when he first intimated to me the necessity of his leaving me. He had resolved, he said, to return to Florence, and I was in too weak a state of health to permit my accompanying him. I entreated, I implored for permission to make the attempt. He paused for some time, and then, as if unable to refuse me, he consented—reluctantly, I will own it; but still he said that I should go. He never appeared more fond, more kind than the evening before his departure. That evening, I supped with him and his friends. He seemed tired; and asked me more than once if I would not go to rest. His servant, a countryman of ours, by name O’Kelly, brought me a glass with something in it, which he bade me drink; but I would not. Lord Glenarvon came to me, and bade me take it.” “If it were poison,” I said fondly, “I would take it from your hands, so that I might but die upon your bosom.” “It is not poison,” he said, “Alice, but what many a fine lady in London cannot rest without. You will need repose; you are going a long journey to-morrow; drink it love; and mayest thou sleep in peace.” I took the draught and slumbered, even while reposing in his arms.... “Oh my father, he left me.—I awoke to hear that he was gone—to feel a misery, I never can describe. From that day, I fell into a dangerous illness. I knew not what I said or did. I heard, on recovering, that my lord had taken another mistress, and was about to marry; that he had provided for me with money; that he had left me my child. I resolved to follow:—I recovered in that hope alone. I went over to Ireland:—the gates of the abbey were shut against me. Mr. Hard Head, a friend of my lord’s whom I once named to you, met me as I stood an helpless outcast, in my own country; he spoke to me of love; I shuddered at the words.—The well known sound of kindness. “Never, never,” I said, as I madly sought to enter the gates which were closed against me.—O’Kelly passed me:—I knelt to him. Was he man—had he human feelings? In mercy oh my God, in mercy hear me, let me behold him again. I wrote, I know not what I wrote. My letters, my threats, my supplications were answered with insult—every thing, every thing was refused me....