"Imagine," resumed the doctor, "what must have been the anguish of the poor parents, and of Jacinto. The boy's energies were roused by his mighty grief; he hastened to the palace of Bemposta, and went straight to the hall, where the queen was giving audience to her favorite d'Arenas. When Jacinto crossed the threshold, he paused; a woman was before him--a cold and haughty woman. No trace of pity or of softness lingered on her features, or beamed in her piercing eyes; no, her heart was ice, her face iron. "'Pardon, madam!' cried the boy, falling on his knees. "'Child, we know of naught but justice; who art thou--what dost thou want?' "'I am the son of the Marquis de San Payo, and I come to ask pardon for my brother.' "The Duke d'Arenas looked up, and exchanged glances with the queen. 'Madam,' said he, 'the best clemency in political affairs is shown by the sword of the executioner!' "'Manoel is but sixteen years old!' cried Jacinto, in a voice of agony. "'So much the better,' replied Carlotta; '_he will go the more surely and speedily to heaven_!'[4] [4] These words are matter of history. "Next morning the condemned cart left the prison of Oporto; it contained the two brothers, for Donna Carlotta, with an incredible refinement of cruelty, had ordered that Jacinto should be present at the execution. I shall not try to describe the last scene of this fearful drama; when Manoel bowed his head, Jacinto started upright; and when the fatal blow had fallen, he crouched down on the scaffold; a smile parted his lips--he was struck with madness! Concealed among the crowd, the marquis had witnessed all, but no external emotion betrayed his inward agony; his tearless eyes were fixed on the ax which had hewn down the noblest branch of his house. As to the marchioness, her woe was also silent: eight days afterward, she was found dead, with her eyes fixed on Manoel's portrait. The marquis, after a time, went to England with Jacinto, where he was during a year and a half under medical treatment, but without benefit. Afterward, they went to Germany, and there, finding science equally powerless, the marquis at length resolved to place his son under the care of Dr. B----; he is now in a fair way to recover." "Are you sure of that!" asked the stranger eagerly. "I have every reason to believe it." We walked toward the house, and again saw Jacinto; he was seated on a grass-plat, leaning forward, with his face buried in his hands. His father was near him, grave, silent, and anxious-looking as before. The stranger followed us, and, as he came near, the eyes of Jacinto were raised, and fixed on him with a wild bright look. Suddenly the youth started up, and shrieked, "the Duke d'Arenas!" Then he fell senseless on the ground. At the unwonted sound the old man thought that intellect and memory had returned to his child, and, forgetting that his enemy, the murderer of his eldest son, stood before him, he exclaimed, "Oh! thank God he is saved!"