"I would they were never to return!" muttered the Duke of Aveiro. "It would be no great loss to us." "Hush! duke," said the Count, who had just sufficient sense to know that silence will often stand in the place of wisdom. "All here know not their own interests. 'Twill be better not to speak on that subject awhile." When the lovely bride heard the King mentioned, a pallor overspread her countenance. "Are you ill, my Theresa," inquired her young husband, affectionately. "Oh no, 'twas a sudden pain, but I am well again," she answered, recovering, and endeavouring to smile. She could not say it was the dreadful struggle between conscience and inclination which agitated her. The guests had just taken their seats at a sumptuous breakfast, prepared for the occasion, the bridegroom being placed at the head of the table, when that strange sound of chariot-wheels was heard. "'Tis the King, for some cause, returning home again," exclaimed one. ("'Tis the King of Terrors, riding on the whirlwind of destruction," he might, more properly, have said.) "No, 'tis a sudden blast, or the roaring of the breakers against the rocks of St. Julian," answered another. "Mother of Heaven! see, the glasses tremble!" cried several. At that moment the noise increased. "An earthquake! an earthquake!" shrieked the guests, rushing from their seats towards the window. The building shook, but scarce a stone fell. "'Twill be over soon," exclaimed the Marquis of Tavora, preserving his presence of mind. "There is more danger in the street than here." The wildest dismay was visible in the countenances of all, yet none sought to fly, but rushed together towards the recesses of the windows, fancying that numbers might cause security. "Fear not, my friends," said the Marquis d'Alorna, "this palace is strong, and has resisted many an earthquake. It will alone affect the fragile houses of the plebeians. See! numbers are already in ruins; what clouds of dust rise from them! The shock has passed, and we are safe!" Scarcely had he uttered the words, when again that sullen roaring beneath the earth was heard. There was no time for flight, they stood paralysed with horror. Donna Theresa showed the fewest signs of fear, as she gazed forth on the city, great part of which lay spread at their feet: she sought not for support, while the other ladies present clung to the arms of those nearest them, except the elder Marchioness of Tavora, who, drawing forth a crucifix from her bosom, called on all around her to pray to the holy Virgin for safety; but, during those moments, the only words any could utter were, "Misericordia! misericordia!"