"Thou art a philosopher, Clodio," said Rutilio, "but I cannot imagine what means we can take to amend our lot, as thou sayest, supposing it to have been bad from our birth. I am not so learned as thou art, but I plainly see that those who are born of lowly parentage, if Heaven does not sufficiently aid them, very seldom rise to any very notable situation, unless their own great virtue and merit assists them. Now, how canst thou expect such assistance, if thine consists chiefly in speaking ill of thy fellow men? and what is to elevate me, when the utmost that I can do is to cut a caper? I am a dancer; thou art a backbiter. I, condemned to the gallows in my own country; thou, banished from thine for evil speaking. How can we expect to improve our condition?" Clodio was silent, and paused before he replied; with which pause the author ends this chapter of his history. [Illustration] CHAPTER VI. _Sinforosa makes her Father's wishes known to Auristella._ Every one of our party had somebody with whom to exchange confidential conversation--Polycarp with his daughter; Clodio, with Rutilio; but the astounded Periander held converse with himself alone; for the discourse that Auristella had held so bewildered him, that he knew not where to turn for relief to the trouble of his mind. "O Heaven!" he said to himself, "what can this mean? Has she forgotten our agreement? Has she lost her senses? Auristella, my betrothed wife? what have I to do with Sinforosa? What kingdoms, what wealth could make me leave my Sigismunda, unless I cease to be Persiles?" As he uttered these words, he bit his lips, and looked around to see that no one heard what he said, which having ascertained, he went on, saying, "Doubtless, Auristella is jealous, and the jealous can imagine anything, and be jealous of the very wind that blows, the sun that shines, the ground you tread upon. O lady mine, be careful what you do; injure not your own worth, nor your beauty, nor deprive me of the glory of my constancy, the honesty and strength of which is weaving for me an inestimable crown as a true lover. Beautiful, rich, and high-born is Sinforosa; but, compared with you, she is ugly, she is poor, she is low-born; consider, lady, that love is engendered either by choice or destiny. The love which is fated always comes to pass in its own time. That which is from choice, may increase or diminish as the causes which excited the affection increase or diminish; and this being true, for true it is, I feel that my love for you has no bounds wherewith to measure it, no words wherein to express it. I may almost say, I have loved you since I was in the swaddling clothes of my infancy. That proves it was my destiny; but as I grew in years and in understanding, that love grew also, with the qualities in you that made you so loveable. I saw them, I contemplated them, I knew them,