"It had been better, Magdalena," said the youth, reproachfully, "for, besides that the act caused me to be stained with blood, it afflicts me with a curse still more heavy. I do not mourn the death of Hilario, as I mourn the downfall of one whom I once esteemed almost a seraph." "Villain that he was!" cried Magdalena, with vindictive impetuosity, "mean and malignant in life and in death! who, with a lie, living, destroyed the peace and the fame of the friendless, and died with a lie, that both might remain blighted for ever! O wretch! O wretch! there is no punishment for him among the fiends, for he was of their nature. And thou mournest his death, too! Thou cursest the hand that avenged the wrong of a feeble woman!" "I lament that I slew the son of my benefactor," said Juan, with a deep sigh; and then added with one still deeper, "but, sinner that I am, I rejoice while looking on thee, in the fierce thought, that I killed the destroyer of innocence." "The destroyer of innocence indeed," replied Magdalena, with a voice broken and suffocating. "Yes, innocence!" she exclaimed more wildly, "or at least, the _fame_ of innocence! for innocence herself he could not harm. No, by heaven! oh, no! for what I came from the sea, that I am _now_; yes, now, I tell thee, now! and if thou darest give tongue to aught else, if thou darest think--Oh heaven! this is more than I can bear! Say, Juan Lerma! say! dost _thou_, too, believe me the thing I am called? the base, the fallen, the degraded?" "Alas, Magdalena," replied Juan, to the wild demand: "with his dying lips, Hilario----" "With his dying lips, he perjured his soul for ever!" exclaimed Magdalena, "for ever, for ever!" she went on, with inexpressible energy and fury; "and may the curse of a broken-hearted woman, destroyed by his defaming malice, cling to him as long, scorching him with fresh torments, even when fiends grow relentful and forbearing. Mountains of fire requite the coals he has thrown upon my bosom! May God never forgive him! no, never! never!" "This is horrid!" said Juan. "Revoke thy malediction: it is impiety. Alas, alas!" he continued, moved with compassion, as the singular being, passing at once from a sibyl-like rage to the deepest and most feminine abasement of grief, wrung her hands, and sobbed aloud and bitterly; "Would indeed that thou hadst perished with the others!"