All the horrible tortures which man can conceive, harassed him at that moment. He threw himself upon his couch--he writhed--he struggled, as if against a serpent which held him in its embraces. His eyes seemed as if they were about to start from their sockets; his teeth were fast closed--he wrung his hair--he beat his breast--and low moans escaped from his bosom. The _fiat_ of the count had gone forth. He who would claim or aspire to connection with his family must be like the wife of Cæsar--beyond all suspicion. It was not enough that such an one should be innocent of any crime: he must never have even been accused of one. Such was the disposition of the count--elicited by an accident, and unexpectedly; and Markham could now divine the nature of the treatment which he would be likely to experience, were he to reveal his misfortunes to a nobleman who entertained such punctilious and extremely scrupulous notions! "But I was mad to imagine that Isabella would ever become mine," thought Markham within himself, as soon as he became somewhat more tranquillised. "It was folly--supreme folly--rank, idiotic, inconceivable folly, in me to have cherished a hope which could never be realised! All that now remains for me to do, is to abandon myself to my adverse fate--to attempt no more struggles against the destinies that await me,--to leave this house without delay--to return home, and bury myself in a solitude from which no persuasions nor attractions shall henceforth induce me to emerge! Would that I could leave this house this very evening;--but appearances compel me to remain at least until to-morrow! I must endeavour to assume that ease of manner--that friendly confidence, which is reciprocal here:--for a few hours I must consent to act the hypocrite; and to-morrow--to-morrow, I shall be relieved from that dread necessity,--I shall be compelled to bid adieu to Isabella for ever! No avowal of my past sufferings is now required--since I shall to-morrow leave this hospitable mansion, never to return!"