So many strange asseverations, and so many inconsistencies, could only excite doubt, astonishment, and suspicion; when Lady Margaret, re-entering the apartment, asked her brother in a voice of excessive agitation, whether he would go with Colonel de Ruthven, who had called for him? And without leaving him time to answer, implored that he would not. “Your earnestness to dissuade me is somewhat precipitate—your looks—your agitation....” “Oh, Altamonte, the time is past for concealment, go not to your enemies to hear a tale of falsehood and horror. I, whom you have loved, sheltered, and protected, I, your own, your only sister, have told it you—will tell it you further; but before I make my brother loathe me—oh, God! before I open my heart’s black secrets to your eyes, give me your hand. Let me look at you once more. Can I have strength to endure it? Yes, sooner than suffer these vile slanderers to triumph, what dare I not endure! “I am about to unfold a dreadful mystery, which may no longer be concealed. I come to accuse myself of the blackest of crimes.” “This is no time for explanation,” said the duke. “Yet hear me; for I require, I expect no mercy at your hands. You have been to me the best of brothers—the kindest of friends. Learn by the confession I am now going to make, in what manner I have requited you.” Lady Margaret rose from her chair at these words, and shewed strong signs of the deep agitation of mind under which she laboured. Endeavouring not to meet the eyes of the duke, “You received me,” she continued, in a hurried manner, “when my character was lost and I appeared but as a foul blot to sully the innocence and purity of one who ever considered me and treated me as a sister. My son, for whom I sacrificed every natural feeling—my son you received as your child, and bade me look upon as your heir. Tremble as I communicate the rest. “An unwelcome stranger appeared in a little time to supplant him. Ambition and envy, moving me to the dreadful deed, I thought by one blow to crush his hopes, and to place my own beyond the power of fortune.” “Oh, Margaret! pause—do not, do not continue—I was not prepared for this. Give me a moment’s time—I cannot bear it now.” Lady Margaret, unmoved, continued. “To die is the fate of all; and I would to God that some ruffian hand had extinguished my existence at the same tender age. But think not, Altamonte, that these hands are soiled with your infant’s blood. I only wished the deed—I durst not do it.